And now he'd returned.
Why hadn't he stayed away forever?
Again he closed his eyes, willing The Face to go away, praying to God, promising He or She or It that he would be good, that he would never so much as swear ffhe could just get out of this restroom with his sanity and his life.
It was late and the gas station would be closing soon. Surely the attendant would come back here to see what had happened to him, to inform him that they were get ting ready to close.
But the Face in the Sand might get the attendant.
But then the police would come.
But what if the police couldn't stop The Face? What if nothing could stop it? What if it would not give up until it had him, no matter how many others it had to kill first? "Curler." . The voice was rough and whispered, barely audible above the grainy liquid sound of the wind.
He wanted to scream but could not. He opened his eyes, and in the mirror his mouth was open, although no sound was coming out. Over his shoulder, outside the small window, was The Face. The features changed, the wall of sand on the other side of the dirty glass shifting, rippling, now grimacing, now smiling, now screaming, the movement not smooth and fluid but still and jerky.
Hadn't it been more fluid before? ,
"I found you."; .;
He plugged his ears, trying to keep out the voice, trying not to hear it, but though the sound of the wind was shut out, the voice echoed in his head. There were only the two phrases, repeated--"Cutler" and "I found you' rebut for some reason that frightened him more than if a coherent series of threats had been leveled at him.
The glass in the window shattered, flying inward, and, reacting instinctively, Cutler hit the floor, curling instantly into a position under the sink that was half fetal, half duck-and-cover. Now he was screaming: short, high, feminine bursts.
He stopped screaming when the first grains of Sand tickled the back of his neck. I ............ There hadn't been a single car on the highway for the past fifteen minutes, and Buford wanted to close up early. He had never closed the stand before ten o'clock in the nine years it had been operating, and he didn't want to start now, but something was wrong here. He could feel it; he could sense it. He glanced over at the clock, but he could see the order window in his peripheral vision, and he looked immediately away. Licking his lips, he started singing.
Military songs. "pick the lock with my enormous cock, said Barnacle Bill the Sailor. "His voice sounded strange in the silence, and he stopped almost immediately. He reached over, flipped on the radio, turned the knob, but there was only static.
Something was definitely wrong. He didn't like the color of the sky or the sound of the breeze or the fact that his was the only business open this late in this part of town.
He scraped the grill with his spatula, oncentrating all of his attention on the square of dark metal and the brown hardened grease, trying not to think of that blackness beyond the order window. There were goose bumps on his arms, and he had to admit that he was spooked.
Hell, a few moments ago, he'd nearly jumped out of his shoes when the phone rang. It had only been Jacy, and for the few moments they talked he'd felt fine, but the second he hung up the receiver the chill had returned.
He'd thought he'd seen movement outside the window, but when he'd looked more closely there'd been nothing there.
He'd avoided looking out the window since then.
He'd pretended to himself that he hadn't heard the noises.
He finished scraping the grill and used the spatula to pick up the congealed grease and drop it in the empty coffee can on the floor. He had never before been this scared. Not in "Nam, not nowhere.
But there was nothing to be frightened of, nothing out there.
Buford reached for his cup on the edge of the grill, picked it up and drank the dregs. He should close up, let Taco Bell or Dairy Queen get the extra business. How much could he make between now and ten anyway?
If he was lucky, a couple of kids would stop by for Cokes and fries after the movie got out, but that was the most he could hope for. And considering the fact that the theater was showing a "serious" film this week, not an action flick or a comedy, and that this was a weeknight, not a weekend, the chance that any kids would come by at all was damn near zip. He could close up now and not notice the difference.
But he didn't want to close up, and he was forced to admit to himself that he was afraid to leave. His truck was parked in the rear, facing the desert, and the outside bulb in the back had burnt out some time ago.
The stand was surrounded by darkness.
He could call Jacy, invent some excuse, tell her to come over and meet him here. But she'd probably taken her bath and was in bed already.
Besides, he wasn't such a pussy that he had to have his wife save him from the monster, was he? found himself thinking of Manuel Torres and those animals lying in the arroyo with the blood sucl out of them. The arroyo stretched only a few dozen Fa behind the stand. He knew that a police had searched area thoroughly, but he also knew that nothing had been found. He imagined the arroyo at night, a huge black gash across the desert, its floor, invisible in the gloom his mind, he saw the top of the arroyo, saw white finl reaching upward from the blackness, grabbing the edge of the cliff, saw the vampire pulling itself upwal
Vampire. Jesus Christ, he was turning into a little lady. What the hell was wrong with him? He should knock this shit off, close up, and get his ass home to
But as he stood next to the grill, he heard rustlin the sagebrush outside, the light whisk sound of mo gravel, and he concentrated once again on the squa the grill, afraid to look up, not knowing when he would build up enough courage to leave the stand and go home.
" After dinner, Rich helped Anna with her spelling flasl cards. Her class was studying "at" words this week--cat hat, fat, and bat--and she could recognize them all excep bat," which for some reason she missed each and ever2 time. She kept confusing it with "fat." He tried to explain the difference between the two, and she could get it correct if he repeated the flash cards in identical order, but the minute he shuffled the cards, she would miss it again
They quit studying after fifteen minutes, when he sensed that Anna was getting restless, her attention starting to wander, and he told her she could watch TV un till bedtime. The two of them sat next to each other on the couch. A few moments later, Corrie came into the room Rich had thought she was in the kitchen doing something but she came in from the hallway.
She walked in front of the television. "Here," she said "I want this in the paper." She tossed two paper clippec pages on the coffee table.
He picked up the pages, glanced at the top one, shool his head. "Can't do it."
"What?"
"Joking," he said, raising his hands in apologetic self defense. "I'm just joking," He read through the copy. fund-raising picnic for Wheeler's church? We don't haw to go to this, do we?"
"I'm going. Anna's going." She looked at him coolly. "I would appreciate it if you would accompany us."
He dropped the papers on the table "I suppose." "It's for a good cause."
"Yeah," he said. "Right. Could you move over a little? You're blocking the screen."
Corrie's mouth hardened into a straight line. "Anna," she said, "I think it's time for you to go to bed."
"But the show's not over yet!"
Rich patted her leg. "Listen to your mother," he said. She hesitated ....... "Anna! " Corrie repeated.
"A story? I thought you said you were too old for me to read you stories."